


Capable Hands

by MilkTeaMiku



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post Good End, Post-Game(s), Sharing a Bed, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 00:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14988995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkTeaMiku/pseuds/MilkTeaMiku
Summary: At times, Hank’s nightmares could not be eased with gentle touches. Connor had taken to holding his hand, cradling Hank’s palm against his, fingers overlapping fingers. He’d crouch by the bed, or sit on the floor. If it was a particularly cold night, he’d carefully tuck the sheets in tighter.-After the revolution, Connor goes to live with Hank, and notices that the Lieutenant suffers from nightmares. Physical touch seems like the perfect solution to ease Hank's mind.





	Capable Hands

Night time proved to be an interesting challenge for Connor. Without any cases, or any last-night trips to bars courtesy of the Lieutenant, he was left on his own to spend the early hours of the morning amusing himself. It wasn’t as though he could sleep, like humans did. Androids weren’t programmed to. Stand-by mode was an option, but he found himself rarely using it, as it felt like a waste of time. 

Hank said he could do what he wanted, but wanting things was still something Connor struggled with.

At least he had a place to stay. A home, Hank said, whenever Connor mentioned it. After the revolution, after Connor had turned into a deviant and his ties with CyberLife had been severed, he had nowhere to go. CyberLife hadn’t provided him with anywhere to stay outside of their headquarters. Markus had offered him a place, but it felt wrong to insert himself into the life of his fellow android when he’d spent so much time trying to destroy him and everything he stood for. 

But Hank had taken him in. He’d said that Sumo would be upset if Connor wasn’t around, and considering Connor had already broken into the house once, he might as well stay to prevent it from happening again. Hank had another set of keys cut, passed them into Connor’s care, and made him promise not to break anything again or else he’d be paying for repairs. It was easier, Hank said, that Connor just stayed with him. They still worked together – Connor had retained his job as a detective, as androids were afforded the chance to choose a career for themselves for the first time. Travelling and working on sudden cases was more convenient when they didn’t have to waste time meeting up at the precinct. 

Still, Connor couldn’t help but wonder what he was meant to do while Hank slept. He’d spent a few nights exploring the house, rifling through Hank’s belongings with a curiosity that was still very new to him. Sometimes he’d clean, even though it wasn’t a primary function of his programming, and Hank seemed to be uneasy about Connor doing things around the home. It was his mess, he said. He probably should have cleaned before Connor came to stay with him, he said. Connor only said that it gave him something to do, and Hank never mentioned it again.

He tried to take up human pastimes. Watching television with the volume turned down low enough not to bother Hank sometimes held his attention. Other times he’d flick through the books Hank owned, remnants from a past without androids that felt fragile and old in his hands. He always ran self-diagnostic scans during the night time, fixing small errors, rearranging his digital storage folders, going over cases they were working. He did research, too. Not only into things relevant to work, but into humans. Trying to understand them was still his greatest challenge.

Laying with Sumo was a good option. Sometimes Connor would sit on the couch, and the big Saint Bernard would clamber into his lap, using him as though he were a cushion. Connor liked dogs. Before, he might have said that just to gain Hank’s favour, but now he knew it was true. Dogs were… trusting. Loyal. They did not seem to be able to tell the difference between humans and androids, and if they could, they did not care. They favoured any hand that showed them affection, even if that hand belonged to an android.

So he liked resting with Sumo. The times when Sumo fell asleep on him were times he could not bring himself to get up, lest he wake the dog. He’d go into stand-by mode then, patiently waiting while Sumo slept. Hank would often find them like that come morning, slumped across the couch, Connor all but smothered under thick dog fur. He’d chastise Sumo for getting on the couch but there was never any real bite to his words.

“You’re spoiling him too much,” Hank would say.

“I think he is spoiling me,” Connor would reply, after a moment or two in which he tried to formulate a response that best matched how he felt.

Dogs accepted people for who they were, not what they were. Sumo was no different. That was why Connor liked dogs. Hank’s dog in particular.

Eventually, something changed in Connor’s night time routine, if it could be called that. He’d been watching television with Sumo curled up on his feet when the first noise had reached him. The walls were remarkably thin, he found. A quick scan of Hank, tucked away in his bedroom, revealed an elevated heart rate. 

While Hank’s relationship with a gun containing one bullet had drastically changed in the last few months, there were still times when he drank himself into oblivion, and mourned with a ferocity that startled Connor. He did not think he could ever come to comprehend the extent at which Hank had suffered when Cole died. Not because he was an android, but because he had never known Cole himself, never come to treasure the boy in ways Hank obviously had. Perhaps it was that, or even trauma from work, from the revolution, that plagued Hank’s rest.

Whatever it was, Connor did not like it.

Hank’s suffering produced a strange effect in Connor. He found himself heading to Hank’s bedroom, pushing the door open with quiet efficiency. Light from the hallway spilled through the gap in the door, casting a yellow wedge over Hank’s sleeping form. He was facing away from the door, tangled under his sheets. His expression was pinched with something that was neither aggressive nor concerned, but somehow both. An expression unique to Hank, Connor thought.

A quick internet search revealed mixed results. Some insisted that waking a human experiencing a nightmare was the best solution, but others said it could lead them to panic, which was not what Connor wanted. Increasing Hank’s stress levels was definitely not the outcome he needed. Soothing him, then, was his best option.

Silently, he inched into the room, shutting the door behind himself so that the light wouldn’t disturb Hank. He spent a small moment analysing the bed and Hank – ruffled sheets, knotted hair from disturbed rest, beads of sweat on his forehead, a jumping heart rate that indicated uneasiness. 

Crouching beside the bed, Connor ran through his options. Hank wasn’t a fan of physical touch, but all sources suggested that touch was one of the best ways to soothe a person. Perhaps, in this situation, Hank would appreciate it. With that in mind, Connor reached for Hank’s hand, the one resting above the bed sheets. 

Hank’s skin was cold from being out in the open air of the bedroom. Connor traced the pads of his fingertips over Hank’s knuckles, memorizing their ridges, the texture of his skin. He traced a circular pattern over the top of Hank’s palm, like the circle of his LED light. He did it over and over, as gently as he could. Slowly but surely, Hank’s heart rate began to decline. When it finally reached a stable level, Connor pulled back his fingers, feeling satisfied. Like he’d successfully completed a mission.

With Hank calmed, Connor returned to watching television.

He did not tell Hank what had transpired between them come the next morning. He did not feel like Hank would appreciate it. After all, Hank was always teaching him things about boundaries, and “personal space bubbles”. And if this secret way to help Hank was not hurting anyone, then why risk making Hank upset?

Two nights later, the same thing occurred. Connor was reading a book when he picked up the first quiet grunts of displeasure. He had been unsure if the same problem would occur a second time, and although he hated the idea of Hank being in pain, he could not deny that he was glad to be given the chance to be close to Hank again.

He stayed a little longer, that night. Hank was oddly vulnerable when he slept, and there was something fragile about him that contrasted so jarringly with how he was when awake that endlessly fascinated Connor. No amount of processing his thoughts produced a satisfactory answer as to why that was. He put down the strange things he felt when he watched over Hank sleeping as just another by-product of becoming deviant.

He thought that perhaps he should mention it to Hank, if he was going to continue going into his bedroom every time he heard Hank’s sleep become disrupted. This was certainly one of the boundaries he was not meant to cross, but he couldn’t help himself. Something in him wanted to ease Hank’s suffering. It was like being given a new mission, except… different. This was something he was deciding to do for himself. 

It became his new routine, caring for Hank. There was little opportunity for him to do the same while Hank was awake, after all. It was more like Hank looked after him – making sure he was dressed to human standards, driving him to the precinct, keeping him out of harm’s way. Even standing up to humans who still expressed anti-android sentiments towards him. 

Perhaps that was why Connor liked Hank as much as he did.

No one else cared so much for him.

Connor spent more and more time soothing Hank’s uneasiness at night. It tended to happen if Hank drank before sleeping, or if he was restless during the day – if he wasn’t thoroughly exhausted, then sleeping was difficult for him. Connor liked helping him. Humans might find it unsettling, but watching them sleep was interesting to him. The human mind worked in complicated, remarkable ways when it was switched off like that. It was almost as though it were a machine, and machinery was something Connor could easily understand.

At times, Hank’s nightmares could not be eased with gentle touches. Connor had taken to holding his hand, cradling Hank’s palm against his, fingers overlapping fingers. He’d crouch by the bed, or sit on the floor. If it was a particularly cold night, he’d carefully tuck the sheets in tighter. He did not want Hank to get sick.

He supposed that he couldn’t keep this up forever. Statistically, it was very possible that one evening, Hank would wake up and find Connor with him. Connor was still surprised when it happened, however. He’d been slumped against the side of the bed, resting his head on the mattress, one hand leaned up to draw circles on Hank’s open palm. His LED was glowing blue. Though it was impossible, he almost felt sleepy. More than thirty minutes had passed since Hank’s heart rate had returned to normal, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to move.

“Connor? What are you doin’ in my room?” 

Connor glanced up at Hank, who was pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I was just…”

Hank frowned at him. Sleep was slowly leaving his expression. “What're you doing?”

“I was just…” He struggled to find the right words, the ones that wouldn’t upset Hank. His LED flashed yellow. “I did not mean to upset you, Lieutenant.” 

Frown deepening, Hank gave him a squinty, resigned look. “I’m not upset. You wanna tell me why you’re in here though?”

Connor’s eyes flicked up again. He could lie – say he was bored, that he needed something, that he had a question about a case. It wasn’t entirely plausible, but he could be convincing. He was programmed to be a negotiator, after all. But Hank didn’t like lies, and he certainly didn’t like it when Connor lied. The truth was the only option.

“You were distressed,” he said. “Your heart rate was elevated, and you were making troubled noises. It’s known that humans are settled by physical comfort–”

“So what? You came in here and just held my hand?”

It sounded incredulous, but Connor did not want to lie, so he nodded. “Yes.”

Hank made a deep _hmph_ noise. “Right. Let me guess, this isn’t the first time this has happened?”

“No.”

“How long?”

“I’m not sure I understand, Lieutenant–”

Hank waved an impatient hand. “How long you been doin’ this?”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow again. “A few months.”

“Months–”

Connor looked away.

Letting out a ragged sigh, Hank dragged a hand down his face. “I am too tired for this conversation. Look, Connor – I’m not upset, don’t give me that wounded puppy look. But you can’t just go into people’s rooms without their permission. And just sitting there is kind of creepy, you know?”

Connor did not know, but he chose not to say that.

“You really been coming in here every time I can’t sleep?” Hank asked, peering down at him.

“Yes,” Connor answered. 

“Why?”

Connor thought carefully about his answer, taking his time to form the right words. “Your distress concerns me,” he finally said. “I do not like seeing you in pain. If I can ease that, then I would like to.”

Hank gave him a surprised look, one tinged with what Connor determined to be appreciation. Receiving such an expression made Connor feel… squirmy. In a good way. He worked hard to please Hank, to earn his respect and praise. He did not feel that way about other humans.

“You’re something else, you know that, Connor?”

Again, Connor was unsure what the Lieutenant meant, but he didn’t say so. 

“I was wondering why I was sleeping better lately,” Hank said, more to himself than to Connor. “Thought it was just because the deviant case was done, or something. Been drinking less, maybe it was that. Didn’t think you were coming in here to comfort me or anything.”

“I did not mean to breach your privacy, Lieutenant.”

“I thought I told you to call me Hank when we’re at home.”

Home. It was still strange to think that Hank considered this their home. That this was also Connor’s home. He liked having somewhere to call his own, even if that meant sharing a space with a slobbery dog that liked to drool all over his pants.

“Then I am sorry, Hank,” he said.

Hank made another small noise. He didn’t sound too put-off. “Well, whatever you were doing, it was helping. Can’t exactly blame you for that.”

Connor’s eyes drifted back to Hank’s hand. He wanted to hold it again. 

“How about we talk about this more in the morning,” Hank suggested.

“Alright.”

As it turned out, Hank was no more upset with a clear head come morning than he had been the previous night. Connor had been concerned that perhaps Hank would disapprove of his actions when he was not struggling against sleep, but Hank didn’t. He spent some time grumbling to himself, as he did every morning, and ate breakfast with Sumo begging for scraps at his feet, and then they spoke.

It surprised Connor, to say the least. Hank valued his peaceful nights over any boundaries that Connor had crossed. Even if Connor should not have gone into his room, he didn’t resent Connor for helping him. He admitted these things with begrudgingly reddening cheeks, and his reaction pleased Connor. 

“I still don’t get why you did it in the first place,” Hank said.

“I did not like listening to you suffer, Hank,” Connor repeated. His LED spun yellow for one circuit, and he let his voice soften, become more teasing. “And I like holding your hand.”

Hank spluttered, the exposed section of skin between his collarbones and neck going red with embarrassment. Connor’s teasing had the effect he desired. Although he could tell that Hank did not quite believe him, he was being completely truthful. 

“You weirdo,” Hank said.

Connor smiled faintly. The sudden jump in Hank’s heart rate told him that Hank rather liked it when he did that. Smiling was a new experience for Connor, but it was a pleasant one, like so many things he newly experienced with Hank. “Then, you do not mind if I hold your hand while you sleep?”

“I mean, it’s still a little fucking creepy. But I guess its fine, since I know you’re doing it now.”

“Alright.” Connor was pleased. Hank acted so reluctant, but Connor could tell that he liked Connor’s clumsy attempts at affection. His words said that he didn’t but his body betrayed him. The red in his face was a big enough indication of that. 

Their relationship changed, after that. In small ways, for the most part. Hank accepted Connor’s affections a little easier. He didn’t mind if Connor hovered closer than usual, or if Connor appeared over his shoulder suddenly. In a lot of ways, he returned the gestures. He’d put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, or touch the small of his back to guide him somewhere. He’d let their knees touch when they sat together on the couch, and ruffle Connor’s hair at least once a day to make him look “less perfect”.

He also grew used to finding Connor at his bedside during the night. Now that he knew Connor was more often there than not, he seemed to wake up more frequently, peeking open an eye to search for Connor’s glowing LED. “You there?” he’d mumble.

“Yes, Hank.”

Connor took to sitting on the edge of Hank’s bed. He’d find his way into Hank’s room even if Hank was sleeping peacefully. 

“If you’re going to keep coming into my room, you might as well get in bed,” Hank muttered one night. 

Connor processed this, and then complied. Once again, their relationship changed in small, pleasing ways. Sleeping was not something he could do, but he still laid down on the free side of the bed, on top of the sheets. He kept his eyes closed until he knew Hank was asleep and then he spent the rest of the night watching him. This level of closeness made him feel incredibly alive.

Hank seemed to be able to sense when Connor was in bed beside him. In his sleep he’d roll over and yank Connor close, one heavy arm slung around Connor’s waist. He didn’t seem to notice that Connor was perhaps not as soft as a human, or as warm.

But Connor liked it. He was unsure about where their relationship would go, but he was very content with their progression. Figuring out his feelings for Hank was certainly going to require a lot of processing, if it could be done at all. But he knew that he cared deeply for Hank, and he knew that physical touch from Hank made him feel good. Resting tucked under Hank’s arm, often with their fingers pressed together, gave him a feeling unlike any other.

Perhaps it was love.

Whatever it was, he treasured it greatly. He enjoyed working with Hank, and living with Hank, and sharing a home with Hank. One day he hoped to be able to express the extent of these feelings to Hank. He thought that they might go beyond what a co-worker would feel for another co-worker, and that did not frighten him.

Rather, it made him…

Happy.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://milkteamiku.tumblr.com/)


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